Sleeper Cell
by Sue Pokorny
Summary: Set between Monster At the End of This Book and Jump the Shark. Sam and Dean are called to an old prison where Bobby is being held. Is the prison really haunted or is it all just a ruse to get the Winchesters right where the demons want them?
1. Chapter 1

**Hey all! Miss me? I started this story way back in April and I just got around to getting my butt in gear to finish it. Summer has a way of making me incredibly lazy and I ask your forgiveness. It's not beta'd so all mistakes are my own (and I cherish each and every one!!!) I'm so looking forward to season 5 and all the things I've heard so far. But, until then, I offer up this little adventure.**

**Takes place between 'Monster At The End of This Book' and 'Jump the Shark'. Boys in peril… what else is there?**

**Sleeper Cell**

Chapter 1

The Winchester Gospels.

Dean shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he considered the words Castiel had used to describe Chuck's series of Supernatural books. He simply couldn't wrap his head around it. Chuck? A prophet? In what reality was that even a good idea let alone a possibility? Maybe he was still in Hell. Maybe this was the demons' way of playing with his head, making him believe he still had some sort of chance at a real life while throwing in preposterous ideas like Chuck's Gospels just to keep him guessing. There was just no way. Could his life get any weirder?

"What's so funny?"

Dean glanced at his brother, seeing a mirrored grin on Sam's face.

"Nothing," he said with another shake of his head. "It's just… gospels? Us? I mean… that's just too…"

"Weird." Sam finished for him.

"To say the least."

Their conversation was interrupted by the muffled sounds of Led Zepplin coming from Dean's jacket pocket. Without taking his eyes from the road, he shifted enough to allow his right hand to dive into the pocket and retrieve his cell phone. He glanced at the display, wincing at the name flashing against the background.

Bobby.

He sighed, knowing he was in for an ass chewing before he even answered the call. They'd spoken briefly while Dean was in the hospital after his encounter with Alistair, but other than a quick update to let the old mechanic in on the new wrinkles in the unfolding drama, they hadn't been really talked. After Zachariah's three week jaunt into the corporate wonderland of Sandover Bridge & Iron, they had called the older hunter and explain why they had been off-line for so long and give him the reader's digest version of what they had learned about the angel's so-called 'plan'. They'd promised to head directly to Singer Salvage to regroup, but diving into Chuck's world of science not-so-fiction had detoured them another week and they had yet to contact the man whom they both considered as close as family to explain just what had been going on. He knew Bobby would ream him a new one – and he fully accepted the blame for not contacting the mechanic sooner. With a look of resignation directed to his curious brother, he flipped open the phone and placed it next to his ear.

"Hey, Bobby."

"_Hey yourself. Nice of you boys to keep in touch."_

Dean tilted his head in acceptance of the rebuke. "Uh, yeah, about that. We kind of got… distracted."

"_Don't matter. You can give me your excuses later in person so I can kick your asses proper. Right now I think I could use your help."_

Dean frowned. It wasn't like Bobby to let protocol slide so easily. "Okay. You alright?"

"_I'm a little tied up on a hunt right now. Was hopin' you boys could swing by and save an old man some grief."_

Dean's head snapped up at the older man's words. While he and Sam tended to use more inventive code words to depict trouble, Bobby's list had always been a bit more overt. Of course, it wasn't like the older hunter had ever had to use one before – especially to them – but that didn't mean Dean didn't recognize one when it was right in front of him. "Where?"

"_Mansfield, Ohio. The old Ohio State Reformatory just outside the city on Rte. 545. You think you boys could double time it and give me a hand?"_

"Uh, yeah, Bobby." He glanced at Sam, the younger man picking up on the change in attitude immediately. "We're about six hours out. Think you can hold out that long?"

Bobby's voice was tinged with something Dean could only label as distaste. _"Yeah. But it's gonna be tough. I've only got a few longnecks left in the cooler. Maybe you boys can stock up before you get here?"_

"Will do, Bobby," Dean responded, once again catching the mechanics hidden meaning within the conventional phrasing. He licked his lips, his heart beating faster in response to the fear he felt for their old friend. Whatever he'd gotten himself into, he was letting them know they were walking into a trap. Dean just hoped whoever was holding him didn't catch on to the information he had covertly given them. "We're on our way. Don't do anything stupid, man."

"_Me?"_ Dean was relieved to hear the humor in the older man's voice_. "I'm the smart one. I'll leave stupid to you two chuckleheads."_

The connection went dead and Dean tossed the cell phone down onto the seat.

"Damnit!"

"What's going on? Is Bobby okay?"

Dean shook his head, his eyes on the road as he pressed down on the accelerator. "He's in trouble."

"What did he say?" Sam prompted.

"At least three guys holding him," Dean repeated, interpreting Bobby's code phrases for his brother. "He said there were a few longnecks and we should stock up before we get there."

Sam nodded, understanding the underlying meaning of the words. "Okay, so he wants us to come in armed."

"Right," Dean nodded. "I told him six hours double time."

Sam bobbed his head again. "So we're three hours out. Where?"

"Mansfield, Ohio. Old prison outside of town." Dean frowned, a vague memory tugging at him. "Mansfield… that sounds familiar. Check Dad's journal."

Sam turned and dug into the duffel in the back seat, fishing out the well-worn leather book containing all their father's research throughout the years. "You think Dad checked the place out?"

Dean shrugged and steered the old Chevy onto the on ramp to I-71. "I don't know. If there's nothing, we'll stop when we get closer and figure out what we're up against."

Sam started paging through the journal, stopping to throw a glance toward his brother. "You know Bobby wouldn't call unless he didn't have a choice."

Dean nodded, a soft sigh slipping from his lips. "That's what I'm afraid of."

Snsnsnsnsnsn

Dean pulled the Impala onto the shoulder of the deserted two-lane highway and cut the engine, the rumble of the big Chevy echoing in the sudden silence. He leaned forward in tandem with his brother, his eyes widening as he took in the ominous sight of the old prison sprawled across the barren Ohio landscape in the distance.

"Well that's disturbing," he commented in a low voice. Sam merely grunted in response.

Mansfield Reformatory was a large stone structure jutting up from the flat, dead looking piece of land less than a mile from Interstate 71. The imposing architecture reminded Dean of an old world castle or gothic cathedral with the few outlying structures connected by long, flat stone walls. The walls themselves rose at least twenty feet from the ground, broken by tall, uniformly placed arched windows complete with rusted iron grating. All in all, the old prison looked like a fortress, able to withstand any attack from without as well as within.

"So what exactly has the old coot gotten himself into? What do we know about this place?"

At his brothers' inquiry, Sam tore his eyes from the gloomy visage of the prison lying silhouetted against the waning light of the setting sun and flipped open his laptop. They'd made a stop at a café in downtown Mansfield, knowing that information was more important than alacrity in their present situation. Taking advantage of the café's free wi-fi, he had managed to find quite a few websites about the prison, downloading as much as he could to give them a firm idea of what they could expect.

"According to the Mansfield Reformatory Preservation Society website, the prison was built in 1886 and was designed to humanely rehabilitate first time offenders," Sam read from the screen.

"Sounds like a penal resort instead of a prison."

Sam nodded then continued. "But, conditions deteriorated as conditions tend to do and after 94 years of operation the prisons legacy became one of abuse, torture and murder."

Dean bobbed his head. "The rose was off the bloom."

"Way off," Sam concurred. "In 1990 it was shut down by civil rights activists for its 'brutalizing and inhumane conditions.'"

"Awesome."

Sam snorted a laugh at his brother's assessment. "Exactly."

Dean pursed his lips and leaned back in the seat, one arm lying across the back of the bench. "So we're dealing with a crapload of crazy felon ghosts?"

"Maybe," Sam responded with a shrug. At his brother's look of confusion, he took a breath and continued. "According to all these websites, it's pretty common knowledge that Mansfield is haunted, Dean, but as far as I can find, there's never been an incident that's resulted in any kind of violence."

"Meaning?"

Sam closed the laptop and turned in the seat, mirroring Dean's posture. "It just doesn't add up. Bobby lets us know he's in trouble, but the place he leads us to isn't exactly a hot spot on the hunter's clearing house radar. Even Dad mentioned it in his journal but dismissed it as harmless."

"Bobby told me there were at least three bogeys," Dean frowned as his mind processed through the information at hand. "And I doubt if ghosts are gonna hang back to let him make a phone call. You think he's being held by other hunters?" At Sam's shrug, he frowned. "So why call us?"

"Wouldn't be the first time another hunter decided we're targets." Sam reminded him. "I mean I have demon blood, you came back from Hell…" He left his voice trail off, knowing his brother got the idea.

Dean suppressed a shudder as he recalled their ordeal at the hands of Gordon Walker. "So you think a couple of whacked out hunters got the divine newsletter and then nabbed Bobby to lure us to some low-risk hunt and finish what Gordon started?" He shook his head slowly. "Bobby wouldn't fall for that. He's too careful to let anyone get the drop on him."

"Unless they were people he trusted, or…" Sam thinned his lips, his eyebrows disappearing under his bangs as another thought occurred to him.

"Or what?"

"Or," the young hunter drawled. "Whoever – or whatever – took Bobby wasn't exactly human."

Dean stared at his brother while his mind raced to connect the dots. "Demons?"

Sam shrugged again. "Maybe."

Dean sighed and shifted in his seat, the weight of responsibility becoming that much heavier on his shoulders. It was one thing to be singled out as the lone hope for saving the world, but it was something else entirely to have your friends and family at risk simply because they were important to you – a weapon to be used against you. He took a deep breath and rubbed his hand along a denim clad thigh, closing his eyes momentarily as he struggled to force his anger back down where it could be of some use. "Well, we're not learning anything new sitting out here. What do you say we go save Bobby's ass for a change?"

Sam grinned. "I'm in. How do you want to play it?"

"Well, Bobby said to load up, so I guess we do what the man said. Holy water, salt and iron rounds, the works." With a final nod to Sam, Dean pushed open the door and stepped out onto the dirt shoulder of the road, his brother following suit on the opposite side of the car.

They moved around the car, meeting at the back of the Impala, Sam keeping an eye out for any signs of movement as he waited for his brother to open the trunk. Reaching in, they armed themselves with their usual weapons, filling their pockets with shells as well as flasks of Holy water and loose rock salt. Sam watched his brother out of the corner of his eye, trying to assess how ready Dean was for what they might face inside the dark prison walls.

Demons and ghosts they wouldn't hesitate to take out, but Sam felt a need to clarify how far they were willing to go – or how far Dean was willing to go. It wasn't lost on the younger man that before Dean had died and spent the equivalent of a lifetime in the pit, the doubts about his brother's willingness to do whatever it took wouldn't even have been an issue, but Sam wasn't entirely sure what Dean was capable of anymore. With the pressures of Castiel's presence and God's so called prophecy weighing him down – not to mention the horrors that still filled his head from his stay in the pit -- Sam wasn't sure Dean would be able to do what was necessary when it came right down to it. He hated doubting his brother. But he hated the thought of losing him again even more. Of course, the role reversal they now seemed to be experiencing wasn't lost on the younger man.

He was pretty sure Dean was aware of the change in him as well, and Sam was certain it was bothering his brother just as much as it was bothering Sam. They had come to a kind of impasse. Neither brother understanding what was truly going on with the other, and neither knowing how to breach the ever widening divide forming between them. Dean had taken a 'don't ask, don't tell' kind of approach to the problem as of late, and Sam was more than willing to follow his lead. He knew it wouldn't last, that Dean would eventually figure out what he'd been doing with Ruby, but he was more than happy to pretend everything was okay just as long as his brother was.

"So, what if it is hunters?" he asked carefully as he stepped back from the trunk, shotgun lying across his forearm. "What if they're human, Dean?"

The shorter man hesitated for a split second, hardly noticeable to anyone who hadn't known him all his life. His gaze flicked to Sam momentarily, the flash of disappointment quickly shadowed, but noticed nonetheless. He leaned into the trunk and pulled the shiny Desert Eagle from its place in the weapons cache. He flipped the safety, sliding the clip from the pistol to check that it was fully loaded before slamming it back home. He reset the safety and shoved it into the back of his jeans, then straightened and leveled his gaze at his brother. "They made their choice, Sammy. If it is hunters, we do what's necessary to protect our own." He yanked the sawed-off from the trunk and stepped back, slamming the lid soundly.

Sam swallowed and nodded, distressed by the disappointment in Dean's eyes, yet buoyed by the certainty in his deep voice. "We'll get him out, Dean. We're not losing anyone else."

Dean turned toward the prison, his head moving slightly as he nodded his agreement. He placed the sawed off against his shoulder and turned to face Sam, his eyes telegraphing his resolve. "Damn straight."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Sleeper Cell**

Chapter 2

It was simple enough to gain entrance to the prison grounds. The aging fence surrounding the barren lot was rusting and broken enough in places to allow the two hunters to slip through quietly and efficiently. They quickly covered the distance to the large stone structure, crouching behind a small shed near one of the smaller anchor buildings. Sam pulled out a piece of paper, smoothing it out on the ground between them.

"We're on the west side of the prison," he pointed at the crudely drawn map of the reformatory he had copied from one of the web sites he had saved. "The long narrow part was the West Cell Block which connected to the isolation wing and the administration building in the front." He looked up, his eyes tracking the long narrow stone structure, trying to get a read on the expansive building. "Dean, this place is huge. How the hell are we gonna find Bobby in there?"

Dean was also eyeing the building, his gaze narrowing slightly as he detected movement near the far end of the west wing. "Why don't we ask him?"

Sam followed his brother's gaze, his own sight landing upon the man who had stepped outside the building near the rear door. From the distance, it was difficult to make out the man's features, and even though Sam didn't recognize him, he would guess the man was a hunter. Not that they'd actually met all that many hunters, but the way the man stood, his attention on his surroundings, not to mention the way he carried the heavy gun across his forearms obviously ready to aim and fire within seconds, was an indication that they were dealing with someone well trained.

Unlike Bobby and their dad, they'd never been immersed in the world of hunters and knew very few outside of Ellen and a couple of their Dad's old friends who were miraculously still around and kicking, but Sam was sure whoever this man was he was indeed a trained soldier. He may not be an actual hunter, but he was someone who knew what he was doing and they would have to be very cautious if they expected to gain the upper hand.

"Think he's the welcome wagon?" Dean asked, his eyes flicking to the surrounding area, assessing the situation automatically. There were no other signs of life near the prison and it was obvious this guard was their best resource.

"Probably," Sam replied. "But I doubt he's gonna be all that friendly. You recognize him?"

Dean shook his head. "Nope. Looks military," he added, confirming Sam's assessment.

"So, you just going to wander up and ask him if he's seen an old mechanic with a scraggly beard and a trucker's cap?"

"Actually, I was thinking of using the old Winchester charm." Dean turned slightly, favoring his brother with a crooked grin. "Just like the old days, Sammy."

Sam snorted a soft laugh through his nose and returned his brother's grin. "Yeah, 'cause that always worked so well."

Dean chuckled. "At least there's only one guard. Bobby indicated three, but I'm guessing they left one to keep an eye on Bobby and the other is probably covering a different entrance." He nodded to the front of the building. "It's a lot of territory to cover, there's no way they could know which side we'd be coming in on, and there's no way three guys could watch every door. Looks like we got lucky."

"Winchester luck?" Sam's eyebrows rose, disappearing beneath his bangs. "That's comforting." Dean may be different since returning from Hell, but Sam still marveled at the way his brother could size up a situation with little more than a glance. "So you want to play cat or mouse?"

Dean pulled the Desert Eagle from the back of his jeans and slipped it into the front pocket of his coat before shifting the sawed-off into an easy grip. "Do I look like someone who enjoys cheese?" He motioned with the shotgun. "You get his attention, I'll slip in behind him." Sam nodded and rose to make his way toward the prison, pausing when he felt his brother's hand on his arm. "Be careful, Sammy. Don't take any chances. We need him alive, but if he so much as looks at you wrong, take him out."

Sam nodded, his eyes watching as his brother stood and scuttled off behind the stand of trees covering the far side of the lot. "Don't worry, Dean," Sam said softly as soon as his brother was safely out of earshot. "If he looks at you at all, he won't even know what hit him."

snsnsnsnsns

Sam kept low, sticking close to the sparse tree line, his training and experience allowing him to move silently despite his size. The prison grounds were on a slight elevation, giving him a narrow rise to hide behind as he made his way across the distance toward the back of the west wing. He couldn't see his brother, but he knew Dean was moving just as stealthily to the far side of the building, ready to put their squeeze play into motion. He kept time in his head, ticking off the minutes as he positioned himself so that he would be able to make himself visible, but still have reasonable cover if the plan went south. Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself up from his crouch and walked out into the clearing.

It only took a moment for the guard to notice him and he waved, plastering a smile on his face as he balanced his shotgun against his shoulder.

"Hey!" he waved, playing the part of the lost hunter to the hilt. "I seem to have gotten turned around and lost my buddies. Can you tell me how to get back to the -- whoa!" he held up a hand as the guard leveled his weapon, clearly suspicious of the newcomer. "Take it easy, dude. I was just asking for directions."

The guard continued to stare for a few moments, finally shifting his rifle a bit and beckoned Sam over with a tilt of his head. Sam tightened his grip on his own weapon and schooled his face into a nervous smile, effectively hiding his readiness to strike as he moved closer to the guard.

"Didn't mean to startle you," the young hunter continued as soon as he was close enough to speak without shouting. His rifle, still balanced against his shoulder was gripped tightly, ready to move down and fire in a split second. He didn't know exactly where Dean was at the moment, but knew his brother would be ready, trusting that despite the issues between them at the moment, they were still in tune concerning this aspect of their relationship.

"You didn't startle me," the guard finally spoke, a chilling grin appearing on his face as his eyes went black. "We've been expecting you, Sam."

Sam dove to the side just as the demon swung the rifle back in his direction and let off a shot. Rolling swiftly to the left, Sam felt the dirt kick up as the shell exploded into the earth beside him, showering him in a cascade of loam and dead leaves. A moment later, he positioned his own rifle, only to hear a pained grunt, looking up to see the guard's body arched forward, his brother standing closely behind him.

The demon's life force flashed inside the body, quickly extinguishing itself as Dean pushed the corpse forward, leaving him standing alone, Ruby's bloodstained knife grasped in his hand. He glanced toward Sam as he wiped the knife across his jeans.

"You okay?"

Sam nodded and pushed himself to his feet. "Thought you wanted him alive."

Dean's brows rose as he tilted his head as he shrugged off the rebuke. "Plan changed when he took a shot at you. Besides, I doubt we were gonna get any intel considering." He leaned over and pulled the shotgun from the ground, tossing it far off into the bushes. "At least now we know what we're dealing with."

"Demons."

"Yeah," Dean sighed. "Awesome."

Sam leaned over, brushing the clinging leaves and dirt from his jeans and jacket. "Why the hell would demons kidnap Bobby?"

Dean shrugged as he tucked the knife back into his belt. "Why the hell do demons do anything? They're demons, Sam. Despite what you may think, everything they do has a reason and I promise you that reason is never gonna be mistaken for a good deed." He paused to let his words sink in, shaking his head regretfully when he noticed the look of anger that crossed his brother's face. "Look, whatever you believe about Ruby doesn't matter right now. We've got at least two more of those evil sons-a-bitches in there holding Bobby."

Sam took a deep breath through his nose, his body deflating as he slowly nodded in agreement. "Yeah, you're right. Now what?"

Dean tilted his head toward the slightly open door at the back of the South wing. "Now, we do what we do best."

"Don't suppose you have a plan?"

Dean shrugged. "I'm working on it."

Snsnsnsnsns

The inside of the prison wing was disheveled, having obviously been abandoned for a long while. Sam's research had shown that the preservation group was currently working on restoring the place for safety reasons in an attempt to turn it into a tourist attraction. The promise of a haunted tour would probably bring in the whacko's and thrill seekers who ironically believed it was cool or fun to do some weekend 'ghostbusting'. Getting enough of a thrill to weave a good story for their friends about their adventure.

Dean would never understand those people. Of course, most of them had no idea the ghosts were real, let alone dangerous. And none of them would have a clue what to do if confronted by an actually spirit or, God forbid, a demon, but that didn't save them from their stupidity. He had no idea if there even were any malevolent spirits within the prison walls, but just because they'd never been detected didn't mean they weren't there.

But right now, his only concern was the two demons hidden within the encroaching darkness holding a member of their family hostage. He'd never expected demons to play by the rules, but as far as he was concerned, once you brought in a man's family and used them as a weapon against you, all bets were off. He had no problem killing these bastards and he knew Sam felt the same. The only difference was he was willing to do it the old fashioned way – he wasn't so sure about his brother anymore.

Contrary to popular belief, Dean wasn't stupid. He knew whatever the younger man was doing with that demon bitch could not end well. He just had no idea how to get through to Sam. Hell, he didn't even really know whether Sam was even still Sam anymore. That thought frightened him more than he cared to admit. He'd made a promise – first to Dad, then to Sam himself – that if he couldn't save his brother, if Sam ever became something he wasn't, he would end it.

But could he?

A year ago he would've instantly said no.

Now…

A sound to his left caught his attention and Dean raised his eyes, exchanging a glance with his brother. Sam nodded, indicating he had heard it also. With practiced precision, they split, Dean taking the left side of the dusky hallway while Sam hugged the wall directly opposite and slightly behind. The wan sunlight filtering through a broken window near the front of the building where the hallway ended cast a slight shadow, showing them a figure standing near the bend in the hallway, silently awaiting their arrival.

Both hunters stopped, catching the shadow at the same time. Dean tilted his head and indicated for Sam to move forward while he tucked the shotgun into an inside pocket and pulled the knife. While it would be easier to shoot the bastard, Sam nodded, fully understanding their need for stealth under the circumstances.

He slowly crept forward, keeping abreast of his brother who was hidden on the left side of the hallway. As the corner neared, Sam was able to make out a tall, well built man standing with his back to them, his attention down the far corridor of the main building. With a silent signal, Sam stepped out into the adjacent hallway, his rifle leveled at the demon's torso.

"Hey!"

The demon turned and took two quick steps, flinching slightly as Sam pulled the trigger, the iron round catching him directly in the chest. The demon faltered for a moment, then lifted it's head and grinned. "Ouch." With inhuman speed, he was on Sam, reaching forward and pulling the rifle from the young man's grasp.

Sam released the weapon as he felt the force of the demon's pull start to sear his shoulder. He fell back against the wall, his eyes large as he watched the demon turn, swinging the rifle butt around and straight into the side of his brother's head. Caught in mid-thrust, Dean couldn't raise his left arm fast enough to deflect the blow, but was able to lean slightly to avoid the full impact. Even though the blow was a glancing was, the crack of the stock as it connected with his skull echoed ominously down the dark corridor. Sam screamed his brother's name as Dean dropped lifelessly to the floor, the demon laughing as it tossed the weapon against the wall, effectively shattering it into pieces.

Gathering himself, Sam pushed off the wall and took a deep breath, pulling the energy from within him. He held out his hand, directing the energy toward the demon, As it turned, it started to gag, black smoke forcing its way from the host's mouth, dragged down as Sam's power pulled the demon from the body.

It was all over in a few seconds, the man's body dropping to the ground as the demon smoke dissipated into the floor, leaving nothing but a charred ring around the body. Not bothering to check the man, Sam quickly stepped over the body and fell to one knee beside his brother.

"Dean?" Sam's hand skimmed the side of Dean's head, swearing silently when it came back covered in blood. "Damnit. Dean? Come on, man."

The older man groaned, his head rocking back and forth slightly as he regained consciousness.

"That's it," Sam coaxed. "Nap time's over, dude."

Dean finally opened his eyes, squinting up at his brother as he blinked heavily. "What hit me?"

Sam grabbed his brother's outstretched arm and slowly pulled him into a sitting position. "Rifle stock," he answered.

"Must've been made out of lead," Dean muttered as he gingerly raised a hand to his head. After a moment, he opened his eyes fully, his gaze finding the motionless body lying nearby. "He dead?"

Sam nodded. "Shot him point blank in the chest. Either the demon rode him to death or…" He didn't bother to finish the statement.

Dean noticed the burn pattern around the body, swallowing hard as he realized what his brother had done. He glanced up, surprised to see Sam quickly look away, uncertainty written on his face.

"I didn't have a choice, Dean."

Dean nodded reluctantly. "No choice, Sammy."

Sam sighed and accepted his brother's soft acknowledgement for what it was. Dean wasn't happy about Sam using his powers – probably never would be. But he was trying to accept that they were a part of him. Sam knew it wasn't easy, but he loved his brother for trying. He leaned forward and ducked his head in an attempt to get a look at Dean's eyes. "You okay?"

Dean slowly nodded. "Could use a Tylenol or ten, but yeah, I'm good."

Sam chose to ignore the lie for the moment. "That's two down. If Bobby was right, there should be only one more demon to contend with."

"Wow, Sam. Thanks, I probably wasn't up to doing all the higher math."

Sam whacked his brother on the shoulder and stood, offering a hand to the other hunter. "You gonna sit on your ass all day or are we going to get his show on the road?"

Wiping his bloody hand across his jeans, Dean looked up and grabbed the offered assist, allowing Sam to pull him into an upright position. He held on for a moment as the world spun crazily, breathing through the vertigo until he was sure he wouldn't face plant back onto the floor.

"Okay?" Sam asked, making Dean smile at the concern he detected in the familiar voice.

He raised his head and gave his brother a crooked grin. "I am so gonna kick Bobby's ass for this."

Sam chuckled. "Get in line."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Just a note: There are a lot of wonderful readers out there that have taken the time to review but I can't seem to send a message back to a couple of you because you've got it turned off or you aren't logged in so I don't know how (I know, pathetic, but true!) Just know that I do appreciate you taking the time and effort to send your thoughts and I do answer everyone I can, so consider this my thank you!**

**Sleeper Cell**

Chapter 3

The hallway stretch out before them, the only light a soft orange glow as the setting sun shown through the barred windows. Moving quietly, both men kept their eyes shifting, alert for any movement in the shadows that didn't belong. The old building creaked and groaned, the ominous sounds ringing loud in the natural silence.

A scraping sound up ahead caught their attention and, with a look borne of trust and long practice, the hunters positioned themselves on either side of a dark entrance on the inside wall of the hallway. The soft light of the sunset filtered through the bars, throwing the door into an eerie mix of red and black, the shadows taking over merely inches from the open doorframe. On a silent count, both men took a deep breath and slid silently into the room, Sam covering high, while Dean crouched, covering low. Another scraping sound reached their ears from the darkened corner of the room, followed immediately by a very familiar, pained grunt.

Squinting into the darkness, Dean began to move to his left, while Sam rotated toward the right, both men keeping their weapons cocked and ready to fire. Neither wanted to chance hitting Bobby in the darkness, so held their shots until a suitable target presented itself.

Without warning, Dean was hurtled through the air, his back making hard contact with the unforgiving cement wall of the cell. Sam caught the flicker of movement in the shadows and let loose a round, praying to anything that would listen that he had aimed true and not caught Bobby with the iron round. A large man stepped into the wan light, and Sam quickly took aim, holding his fire as the demon held up a hand.

"Good luck, hunters," the demon grinned, it's black eyes shining in the darkening shadows. "You're gonna need it."

Before Sam could pull the trigger, the man's head snapped back as dark smoke poured up and out of his mouth. The smoke quickly flew above their heads and across the ceiling to the doorway, filtering out through a small break in the glass window across the hallway.

Gulping in a breath, Sam quickly lowered the shotgun, making his way across the room to his brother. Dean was slumped against the wall, unmoving. Sam raised a shaking hand, relieved to feel a strong pulse against his brother's neck. The older man was breathing slowly, and Sam wiped at the slow trickle of blood coming from the previous blow to Dean's head. He couldn't tell if his brother had gained any additional wounds or simply exacerbated the damage already there.

A muffled sound from the far corner of the room reminded Sam they were not alone and he quickly shuffled on hands and knees across the short distance, relieved to see Bobby Singer's familiar face.

"Hey, Bobby," he said as he pulled his knife and quickly sliced through the roped holding the older hunter's arms behind his back. "You okay?"

Bobby nodded, pulling the gag from his mouth and tossing it onto the ground irately. "Yeah, I'm fine. They weren't really interested in me."

Sam frowned at the mechanic's words. "What the hell is going on here, Bobby?"

"Damned if I know," Bobby shrugged. He grabbed Sam's knife and made quick work of the ropes binding his legs before standing slowly and making his way to the formerly possessed man. Sam watched as he held a hand to the man's neck, his eyebrows rising as he detected a pulse. "He's alive."

Shaking his head, Sam scuttled back to his brother just as Dean began to move sluggishly against the wall. He placed a hand on his brother's shoulder, trying to anchor him as consciousness seeped beck in again. "Hey, man. You with me?"

Dean groaned, but managed to pull himself up into a sitting position and leaned his head back against the cool cement. "Déjà vu," he mumbled, his eyes squeezed tightly closed.

Sam chuckled. "You'd think running into walls would get old after a while." He waited patiently while Dean gathered himself, his attention never wavering from his brother until he opened his eyes.

Dean squinted, even in the dim light, his eyes wandering until they focused on Bobby a few feet away. "Hey, Bobby. Hell of a rescue, huh?"

The older man chuckled, shaking his head fondly. "Need to work on your technique, kid." He nodded toward Dean's head where blood was still seeping from the other demon's home run. "Looks like you bobbed when you should've weaved."

Dean took a deep breath and gave the man a lopsided grin. "Cheap shot," he explained as he raised a hand and wiped away the blood, effectively smearing it down the side of his face. "Even those black-eyed bastards get lucky once in a while."

Bobby snorted. "Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep through the night, princess."

Dean's eyes moved to the man on the floor, widening when he detected movement. "We still got one on ice?"

Sam shook his head, falling back against the wall next to his brother. "No such luck, dude. Demon took off before we could do anything about it."

"Huh," Dean frowned. "Not exactly normal demonic behavior. Bugging out before the finale."

Bobby shrugged, his attention on the man who was beginning to regain consciousness. "None of this seems normal to me."

"What do you think it meant, Bobby?" Sam tilted his head in question.

"You mean that whole 'good luck' spiel? I have no idea."

Dean looked from his brother to Bobby then back again, confusion blanketing his features. "I miss something?"

"Before the demon hightailed it out of this poor bastard, he had a few parting words for us," Bobby explained.

"You win, we give up?" Dean asked hopefully.

Sam snorted a laugh. "More like 'Good luck, you're gonna need it.'"

"Cryptic." Dean observed. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Sam shrugged. "That is the $64,000 question."

Their attention was drawn to the prone man, as his eyes snapped open and he abruptly pushed himself up. He quickly took in the three men surrounding him, his breath coming in shuddering heaves as his head swiveled, taking in the dark shadows.

"Easy there, fella," Bobby held up both hands in a non-threatening gesture, his voice slow and soft. "We're not gonna hurt ya."

"Who are you?" the man asked in a shaky voice. "What the hell's going on? What was that?"

"That," Dean said levelly, "was a demon."

The man huffed a laugh, his eyes taking in the disheveled appearance on the young man leaning heavily against the wall. "Right… a demon… you can't… you don't expect me to believe…"

Dean wiped his arm against the side of his head, clearing the seeping blood again. "Believe whatever you want," he sighed. "The ugly truth is that you were possessed by a demon that kidnapped our friend and lured us here for some reason and we'd like to know why."

"No," the man was shaking his head, his eyes turned inward as memories of what had transpired began to manifest. "No, that's… that's not possible… it can't…"

"Oh, it can and it did," Bobby countered. He narrowed his eyes as he watched the man sit back hard on the cold stone floor. "Look, let's start easy. What's your name?"

"Daniel," the man stammered. "Danny Cross."

Bobby nodded. "Nice to meet ya, Danny. I'm Bobby." He pointed toward the brothers who still leaned against the far wall. "That's Sam and the one leaking from his head is Dean."

Both young men smiled grimly and waved.

"Sam and Dean Winchester," Danny whispered, his eyes widening as he spoke. "Your names are Sam and Dean Winchester."

The brother's brows both rose in unison and they exchanged a look of surprise. "Have we met?"

Danny slowly shook his head at Dean's question, his sight focusing inward as memories rushed into his mind. "They were expecting you. They wanted you here."

"Okay, I'll bite. Why?"

Danny shrugged as he shook his head. "I… I don't know. I remember they had orders not to kill you. They wanted to trap you."

"Someone forgot to tell the jerk who tried to use my head as a baseball." Dean griped.

"Who?" Sam asked.

"Someone named Lilith."

"Son of a bitch." Dean breathed, letting his aching head fall back against the cool concrete of the cell wall. "I'm getting real tired of that skank playing with us like this."

Sam grunted his agreement, his face pensive. "But why go to such an elaborate plan? I mean why lure us here? Why not just kill us outright?"

"Maybe they can't." Bobby offered.

"Why not?" Dean inquired. "They never had a problem trying to gank us before." He turned his head toward his brother but didn't bother to lift it from the wall. "You think it's because of your psychic mojo crap?" After finding out that Lilith couldn't kill Sam, added to what he'd done to Alistair to save Dean's life, it wasn't much of a stretch to believe that the demons were running scared.

Sam frowned and shook his head slowly. "Maybe." He snuck a glance at his brother before ducking his head. "I mean, yeah, Lilith couldn't kill me with her demon light trick and Alistair…" He shrugged, obviously not wanting to rehash what he had been forced to do to save his brother. "But I think it might have something to do with you."

Dean snorted a laugh through his nose. "Me? Why would they suddenly be worried about me? So far everything I've managed to do has helped them, not hinder them."

Sam looked to Bobby for help and the old mechanic picked up his train of thought. Both men knew that Dean had always considered himself expendable. It would go against his nature to believe his life had any special purpose other than the one he believed he was born to. It was a part of the elder Winchesters psyche that neither man had been able to thwart despite years of trying. "Maybe that was before they realized how important you were."

Dean shifted his attention to Bobby, his face transmitting his skepticism. "Come again?"

Bobby took a deep breath, chancing a glance at Sam before continuing. "From what you boys told me, Heaven's prophecy says you're the one who will stop the apocalypse. The demons want you dead, but maybe they're afraid if they outright kill you, your angels buddies will rain down the wrath of heaven or something."

"Right, like they've been so protective so far."

Bobby looked to Sam and shrugged, letting the younger man know he was passing the baton back to him. "Look, Dean. Maybe we're both right. They obviously want us dead and coming right at us hasn't exactly been working for them. Maybe they're getting covert, maybe their getting impatient, who knows? But the fact is the demons did lure us here for a reason."

"They wanted you to die here."

All three men looked toward Danny, having almost forgotten the man was still there.

"You're just full of good news there, Danny," Dean quipped, his patience beginning to wane as quickly as the red hue of the fading sunset. "Care to elaborate?"

"I… I'm not sure what…" he paused and took a deep breath "There are these thoughts in my head that aren't mine. I can't…"

"It's okay, man," Sam counseled. "I know it's all pretty confusing, but anything you can remember could help us."

Daniel nodded and closed his eyes as he concentrated. "They had orders to rile up the spirits here, to make them angry." He opened his eyes and looked at the Winchesters. "They were supposed to seal the doors at sunset."

All three men turned to see the last of the faint red light bleed from the room.

"I guess timing really _is_ everything," Dean said with a sigh. "So we're trapped."

Daniel nodded.

"Awesome," Dean closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall wearily. "So how did they get the drop in you anyway, Bobby? I thought you were supposed to be some kind of all knowing, super-hunter."

Bobby glared at the younger man. "I'm not all-knowing, you idgit. I'm just usually a lot more careful."

"So?" Sam questioned. "How did they get you here?"

Bobby shrugged and adjusted the cap on his head. "One of the damn things managed to possess and old friend. He called for help, I came."

Dean growled low in his throat. "I really friggin' hate demons."

"You and me both, kid."

"So, let's sum this mess up, shall we? The demons get covert, they snatch Bobby and lure us here, expecting a bunch of whacked out prison ghosts to do their dirty work for them?"

Bobby shrugged. "Looks like."

"That's just what we need, demons who think they're in an episode of '_24'_." Dean's mouth quirked and he opened his eyes and looked toward his brother. "Does that make me Jack Bauer?"

Sam huffed a laugh and shook his head in exasperation.

"Okay," Dean continued, completely ignoring his brother's reaction. "So what do we know about Mansfield Prison?"

"Dad's journal only had the one article, but that didn't tell us much." Sam raised a knee and leaned his forearm against it. "You got anything, Bobby?"

Bobby pushed himself off the floor and walked to the door, peering out into the encroaching darkness. "Just the basic stuff every hunter knows. The place is supposedly haunted by the inmates who died here, but aside from scaring the bejezus out of the morons who come here every once in a while to get their rocks off, nothin' real violent has ever happened."

"So, not real high on the supernatural to-do list."

Bobby tilted his head in response to Dean's assessment. "Not on anyone's I know of." He turned to the brothers with an apologetic look on his face. "That alone should've clued me in that something hinky was going on. I'm sorry, boys."

"Don't sweat it, Bobby." Sam waved the old mechanic's apology off. "Even super-hunters can have an off day."

Bobby looked from one to the other, seeing nothing but trust written on their faces. With a nod, he accepted their absolution.

"Well, Linda Blair here says the demons' big plan was to stir up the local population," Dean ignored Danny's look of indignation at his _Exorcist_ reference.

"Danny," Sam spoke, drawing the man's attention. "How much do you know about this place?"

"Quite a bit, actually." The man rubbed his balding head, moving a bit closer to the group. "I used to be a guard here until they shut it down. Now I work for the preservation society helping out with renovations and stuff."

"Word is the place is haunted."

Danny took a deep breath, nodding slowly at Dean's inquiry.

"I've been here almost twenty years and I've never personally seen anything that would corroborate that."

"Until now." Bobby's voice was soft as he reminded the man of what he'd just been through.

Danny looked from Sam to Bobby, then lowered his head, his shoulders sagging slightly. "Yeah. I guess so."

They all sat, each contemplating their situation for a few moments before Sam broke the silence.

"So, Danny. You said you were a guard here, right?" At the older man's nod, he continued. "So you must have heard stories – rumors about weird things that happened, noises, stuff like that."

Danny sat straighter and nodded. "Yeah, sure. We got reports from all over the complex for years. Strange lights, voices… sometimes inmates even reported seeing ghosts, but nobody ever believed them. It was all just too…"

"Weird," Dean finished for him.

"Unbelievable," Danny corrected him.

"Well believe me, it's real."

Sam sat forward, catching Danny's attention. "Are there any particular places that these ghosts seemed to manifest? Any places we should try to avoid?"

Danny shrugged, his brows coming together as he shook his head slightly. "The reports would come in from everywhere: cell blocks, the morgue, chapel, even the administration building."

"Someone died in the administration building?"

Danny nodded. "It's just a story we tell to the tourists. I'm not even sure it really happened. There was some kind of accident, a firearm fell from a shelf inside a hall closet and went off. It killed the warden's wife right there in the main hallway."

Sam raised his brows and exchanged a look with Bobby.

"And it was her ghost that was sighted?"

Danny pursed his lips and shrugged once. "Yeah, I guess. Along with tons of others. I never really put much stock in the rumors, just figured they used them to scare the inmates and amuse the tourists, but I guess if anyplace is gonna be haunted, it would be a place like Mansfield, right"

"Lucky us." Dean mumbled.

Sam took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose. "So you know your way around, right?"

Danny nodded, his demeanor much more confident. "I know this plaee like the back of my hand."

"Good. You said they were sealing the place. I assume you mean they were doing it with some kind of spell or something?"

"I think so. All I can remember is that all the doors would seal at sunset and they wouldn't be able to be opened until sunrise."

"So doors are out," Dean surmised. "And all the windows are barred. Any way we could pry them off?"

Danny shook his head. "The bars are all secured with six inch metal spike anchored into solid concrete. You aren't getting those off with anything less than a jack hammer."

"Terrific."

Sam's mind was whirling as he considered their situation. "Danny, are there any windows in the prison that aren't barred? Any that we might be able to break through?"

Danny considered for a moment before nodding, his face lighting with an eager smile. "The front door in the main office. It's at the very front, in the center of the compound. It has a large glass panel. No prisoners were ever allowed past the cell blocks, so there was never any need to bar that door."

"Can you get us there?"

The darkness was now complete, the wan silvery light from the quarter moon and the dim beam of the flashlights their only illumination.

"The construction has cut off this end of the cell block from the main building. I don't think there's any way around it at the moment. Unless we took the tunnel."

"The tunnel?"

"There's a tunnel that runs underground, directly from each wing to the main building," he explained. "It was a shortcut to the morgue and where some of the old isolation cells were before they built the newer solitary block. There's a locked gate at the end, but I have the keys, so it won't be a problem." He held up an old fashioned key ring with at least twenty metal keys dangling.

Sam looked to Bobby, receiving a shrug from the old mechanic before turning to Dean. "You gonna make this?" He dipped his head to catch his brother's eyes, briefly catching a look of pain and fatigue before the shutters came down and Dean held up a hand for assistance.

"I'm not letting Lilith or any of those black-eyed sons a bitches take me out without a fight. Let's do this."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Sleeper Cell**

Chapter 4

The entrance to the tunnel was a sloping walkway halfway back down the west wind. Once past the initial reach of the windows, the entire passage was engulfed in a eerie blackness that seemed to swallow the meager illumination of the flashlights. The air was dank and had an almost supernatural coolness as it brought out goosebumps on their exposed skin. Bobby and Danny walked ahead, flashlights illuminating the area directly in front of them while Sam and Dean brought up the rear of the small procession, shotguns held ready for any sign of activity.

Dean shuddered involuntarily as they descended into the tunnel, the feeling of being watched raising the hair on the back of his neck.

"You okay?"

Sam's soft whisper startled him, coming from the darkness beside him.

"Yeah, just…" he swallowed, not sure how much of his unease was caused by the creepy surroundings. He was pretty sure he had a concussion, but the darkness they found themselves enveloped in made it difficult to tell what was real and what was simply his mind playing tricks on him. "Do you feel that?" he asked hopefully.

"You mean the creepy cold?" Sam asked, his whispered response sounding loud in the enclosed tunnel. "Yeah. I don't think we're alone." They'd been on enough hunts to know when they were in the presence of ghosts. Even if they hadn't seen or heard any yet, their instincts told them they were close by.

"As long as they keep their distance, we won't have a problem."

Sam scoffed. "Somehow, I don't think we're gonna be that lucky, Dean."

Dean turned, squinting to make out his brother's profile in the dim light reflecting back from the flashlights. "The cup's always half empty with you, isn't it, Sammy?"

Dean could hear the soft chuckle, feeling a bit of the tension drain from his shoulders at the familiar warmth of Sam's voice. "Dad's rule number one, Dean."

"Always be prepared."

"That's the boys scouts."

"Like you were ever a boy scout." Dean reached up and swiped at the blood still seeping down the side of his head. Even in the dim light, the movement wasn't lost on Sam.

"We should try to stop the bleeding, Dean."

"With what, genius? I'm not sacrificing a shirt down here. In case you hadn't noticed, it's cold."

"The entrance to the morgue is just a ways up ahead," Danny's voiced trailed back toward them, echoing ominously against the cement walls. "We could probably find something in there. I don't think they cleared out the supplies completely when the place shut down."

"Sam, it's fine." Dean protested. The ache in his head had diminished to a dull throb and he was not all that inclined to let his brother or anyone else spoil the tentative equilibrium he'd managed to achieve. He could still feel the annoying, warm trickle of blood down the side of his head, but that was much more appealing than the chance of renewing the sharp increase in pain any type of triage would undoubtedly bring.

"Dean, humor me, okay?" Sam said patiently. "It's not fine. You're bleeding. Just let us take care of it, then we can be on our way."

Even in the dark, Dean could sense Sam's patented puppy eyes bearing down on him. Even after a lifetime in Hell and everything they'd been through since, he still had no defense against the ultimate little brother weapon.

"Fine. Whatever." Dean kept what he hoped was the right amount of annoyance in his tone, but was pretty sure he hadn't fooled anyone. Although he wasn't looking forward to acerbating his headache, he would be somewhat relieved to actually have the wound taken care of. The trickle of the blood down his head and neck was starting to itch, distracting him and making it harder and harder to ignore. And, if he was being completely honest, the coppery tang of the blood staining his sleeve and jeans was beginning to make him nauseous, which was, in turn, making his head hurt even more as he concentrated on keeping his meager dinner where it belonged.

Of course the fact that his knees chose that moment to turn to jello didn't help his argument. Reaching an arm out to the cool, slimy tunnel wall for support, he swallowed hard, willing the bile to stay down as he forced himself to stay upright.

"Dean?"

Breathing through his nose, he leaned a shoulder against the wall, letting the arm holding the shotgun fall to his side. "Just need a minute," he responded, his eyes tightly shut against the sudden flare of pain. Moments later, he opened them, surprised to find himself seated on the cold cement floor, his back against the tunnel wall.

Opening his eyes, he squinted into the beam of the flashlight being held in front of his face.

"Do you mind?" He held up a hand to block the light, only lowering it when Danny shifted the beam off to the side with a mumbled apology.

"You back with us?"

Dean leaned his aching head back against the wall and frowned at his brother's question. "Where did I go?"

Sam huffed a laugh. "Where you always go after a few too many blows to the head." He reached forward and swiped at the blood on the side of Dean's face. "I think you have a concussion."

"Thanks, Doogie," Dean responded. "I already had that one figured out."

"Think you can sit here like a good little patient while I go and get a few things to take care of that gash on your head?"

"Just be careful." Dean didn't like the thought of Sam taking off alone with the threat of malevolent spirits in the vicinity, but the thought of actually moving right at the moment was even less appealing. "Take Bobby with you."

Sam shared a look with the older hunter who was hanging back, a few feet behind Sam's crouched form. "Actually, I was gonna suggest he stay here and keep an eye on you. Danny knows where the morgue is, so we'll be fine. In and out before you even get a chance to miss me. I promise."

"Sam –"

"I'll be fine, Dean." Sam interrupted. "Just stay put. I'll be right back."

Before Dean could form a protest, Sam stood, motioning for Danny to lead the way down the tunnel. He could sense his brother's eyes on him as they headed off into the darkness, hoping the stubborn jerk would be smart enough to simply sit still and rest until they returned. He knew Dean was hurting, but in their present situation recognized there was little he could do about it. If he could stop the bleeding, there would be one less thing to worry about. He knew his brother well enough to know the concussion was probably minor, and that he was in no immediate danger, but he also knew Dean would keep pushing himself to the point of collapse, and despite the fact that the angels had seemingly 'healed' him after his encounter with Alistair, Sam wasn't taking any chances.

He'd meant what he'd told Chuck. Dean needed help. And it was Sam's responsibility to give him that help, whether he wanted it or not.

"Right through there."

Danny's voice brought his attention back to the task at hand. The guard was using the beam of the flashlight to indicate a heavy wooden door that seemed to be barely hanging on its hinges. The crooked plague next to the open doorway read 'MORGUE' in faded black lettering, cobwebs obscuring parts of the tarnished metal.

Sam took a deep breath and held out a hand to Danny, wordlessly indicating his desire for the man to turn over their lone source of light. Complying, Danny stepped back while the younger man pinned the flashlight directly blow the barrel of the shotgun with one hand, holding both up and aimed into the room. As Sam edged into the inky darkness, he swept the room with the beam, the barrel of the gun traveling with it, his finger poised on the trigger.

He stepped further into the room, he was aware of Danny moving in closer behind him. He squinted as the beam moved across the apparatus still remaining in the old morgue. The light glanced off a metal table which had been turned half onto its side as well as the fragmented glass that still remained inside the doors on the shelving unit. On the far side of the room there was a wall of small, square doors with latches that reminded Sam of old refrigerator handles.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that it was where they stored the bodies. Not wanting to be surprised, Sam slowly made his way across the debris-strewn floor, carefully stepping over the boxes and pieces of wood that littered the stained tile. A few of the doors hung from warped hinges, showing nothing but layers of dust and cobwebs inside. Stepping to the side, Sam motioned for Danny to open the higher of the two still sealed doors, holding the shotgun ready as the former guard pulled the latch, sending the metal door clanging to the wall behind it.

Before either man could sigh in relief at the empty opening, a loud creak sounded in the small room. Sam shifted the flashlight toward the sound, watching in shock as the heavy wooden door they had entered through moments before righted itself and slammed shut, effectively sealing them inside the morgue.

"What the hell?" Danny said, his voice quivering, laced with confusion and fear.

"Crap." Sam played the light around the room, coming back toward the far wall when a flicker caught his attention. A large man wearing torn, dirty clothing resembling a worn prison uniform coalesced near the one closed drawer. Without hesitation, Sam let loose with the shotgun, the blast echoing loud in the small, confined space.

The ghost disappeared immediately as the salt shell did it's job. Sam quickly backed toward the main door, using one hand to tug at the handle to no avail. The heavy door was shut tightly.

They were trapped.

Snsnsnsnsnsnsns

"You doin' okay, kid?"

Dean opened one eye, wincing as the light from Bobby's flashlight seared into his brain. "Peachy," he muttered, his tone clipped as the pain in his head flared.

"Sorry." Bobby shifted the beam away from the younger man's face, but didn't move from his crouched position before him. He reached into his jacket and pulled a crumpled napkin from the pocket, reaching forward to swipe at the blood still trickling down the side of Dan's head. "This looks bad."

Dean swallowed hard as Bobby's hand made contact with the wound, squeezing his eyes shut at the sharp sting the new pressure caused. "It's fine," he said, instinctively moving his head away from the new source of pain.

"Fine, my ass."

"Your ass may be a lot of things, Bobby, but I don't think fine is one of them."

Bobby let out a low chuckle. "It's definitely not as much of a pain as yours."

Dean grinned in response. "And definitely not as fine."

Huffing a laugh, Bobby pulled his arm back, relaxing back onto one knee. "So, you boys have had a busy few weeks, huh?"

"You could say that."

"Dean," the mechanic's voice took on a serious tone, which made Dean tense in trepidation. "I know this has been pretty much a crap load of heavy shit added to your shoulders –"

"It's okay, Bobby."

"No. It's not okay, Dean. It's so far from okay it's not funny anymore." Bobby sighed and raised a hand to rub at his beard. "I just hope you boys know you ain't alone in all this." He lowered his head, able to catch Dean's eyes in the dim light. "And it ain't your fault." He held up a hand before Dean could utter a protest. "I know what the demon said, and I know what the angels told you. I've also got a pretty good idea what's going on inside that fool head of yours, but no matter how you want to turn this, kid, it ain't ever gonna be your fault."

"But it is, Bobby." Dean's voice was soft, his eyes not able to hold the older man's. "I broke. Alistair used me and I fell right into it. I broke the first seal, Bobby. There's nothing anyone can say or do to change that."

Bobby nodded, acknowledging the statement. "I know. But you can't shoulder the blame for what the demons cooked up, Dean. Hell, they could've planned it all before you were even born, who knows? The thing is, they used you. They tortured you until there was nothin' else you could do."

"Then I broke the seal."

"If you would've known it was the first seal, would you have still done it?"

"What?" Dean looked up quickly. "No! I… I don't… I wouldn't…" His voice trailed off, unsure of how to answer. He didn't think he would have knowingly broken the seal, but… the pain, the torture… it had all taken such a toll. His breath caught in his throat as the memories played through his mind. He would never have… would he?

Bobby watched the emotions play out across the younger man's face. He sighed, reaching out a hand and placing it along the top of Dean's shoulder, he gave the tense muscle and affectionate squeeze. "You can't take the blame for what you didn't know, son."

Before Dean could reply, a shotgun blast echoed down the tunnel, reverberating off the walls, loud in the confined space. The two hunters shared a look of surprise that was quickly replaced by twin expressions of determination. Without a word, Bobby reached out and grabbed Dean's outstretched hand, pulling the younger man to his feet before taking off, leading the way down the tunnel toward Sam.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Sleeper Cell**

Chapter 5

Sam swore under his breath as the ghost reappeared, quickly disappearing under the assault of another blast from the shotgun. Tossing the gun to Danny, who caught it in fumbling hands, he strode to the remaining refrigeration door and yanked on the handle. "Keep your eyes open, man," he instructed the former guard. "If anything moves, blast it."

"What the hell was that?"

"Ghost, spirit, revenant…" Sam named off the possibilities. "Whatever it is, it obviously doesn't want us to get into this compartment." The handle refused to budge and Sam slapped an open hand on the door in frustration. Pulling the flashlight from under his arm, he turned and tracked the light around the room, looking for something that would help him wedge the door open.

"Sam!"

The pounding on the door was muffled by the heavy wood, but the young hunter had no problem distinguishing his brother's voice – nor the anxiety in it.

"Dean!" He stepped over to the door, leaning against it as he raised one hand and splayed it palm down against the wood. "There's a ghost. Looks like a prisoner, probably died in here. I think the body is in one of the old refrigeration compartments, but I can't get it open."

"What about the main door? Can you open it from that side?"

Sam yanked on the handle to no avail. "I don't think so. It opens inwards, so you guys would have a better chance of ramming it from that side."

A blast from the shotgun caught him by surprise and he turned quickly to see the ghost dissipate once again. He turned toward Danny, who simply shrugged, one side of his mouth turned up in a grin.

"Sam!"

"We're okay," he responded immediately to the concern in his brother's voice. "I'm gonna try to pry the door off the compartment and salt and burn this thing. It's gonna get pretty smoky in here if you can't get the door open."

"On it!"

He turned, leaning his back against the door for a moment as he let the light splay across the shelves on the far side of the room, smiling slightly when the beam reflected back off a small, metal pipe lying half inside on of the cabinets.

Snsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsn

"On it!" Dean stepped back from the heavy door, slapping a hand in frustration. "We have to find something heavy, Bobby," he said, his eyes roaming the dark tunnel around them.

"According to Danny, there's some more doors down the tunnel a bit," the older hunter offered. "Maybe I can find something down there."

Dean shook his head. The ache he'd forgotten the moment he'd heard the shotgun blast reignited with a vengeance inside his skull as soon as he moved, but he forced the pain back down, his only concern at the moment being his brother's safety . "I'll go. You need to stay here and help Sam if the salt and burn doesn't work."

"How the hell am I gonna help him if he's trapped on the other side of the damn door?" Bobby gave a token argument, but knew Dean well enough to know he needed to act, not just sit and wait. Even with a concussion, Dean would come up with some plan, some way of opening the door – he just needed the stimulus to get his brain in gear.

Dean grabbed the flashlight from the older man's hand. "You'll think of something."

With a careful nod of his head, he turned down the dark tunnel just as another shotgun blast echoed from the infirmary.

Snsnsnsnsnsn

"I can't believe I'm shooting salt at a ghost."

Sam grinned at Danny's mumbled statement, but didn't take the time to respond. He'd managed to wedge the thin metal pipe he'd found under the mechanism to the refrigeration door and made sure his grip on each end of the pipe was solid. He took a deep breath and placed one foot against the wall of doors, leaned back, letting his weight and gravity do most of the work. He felt the handle shift and increased his efforts, putting all his muscle into the pull. Finally the latch opened, the momentum nearly sending him backwards onto his butt.

"You really expect to find a body in there?"

Sam shook his head as he picked up the flashlight from the floor and pulled open the compartment. "That would be more luck than we're usually accustomed to," he admitted. "But it's not always a body that keeps a spirit anchored. It could be something small like a piece of jewelry or a photo or some part of them like hair or a finger or…" he pulled the drawer out, his eyes falling on a patch of dark brown staining the flat metal. "Blood."

The drawer was half covered with dried, flaking brown blood, thicker in the recesses running the length of each side. It had obviously been there for quite some time, years or maybe even decades if Danny's timeline was to be believed.

"Is that what I think it is?"

Sam nodded grimly. "Yeah. There's enough of it here to keep a spirit anchored."

"So now what?"

Sam tilted his head matter-of-factly. "Salt and burn." He pulled a shotgun shell from his pocket and with a knife pried the top from the cartridge. The rock salt inside was packed tight, but he was able to use the tip of the knife to scrape out enough of the salt to cover the bloodstain. Looking around again, he caught sight of an overturned bottle of kerosene inside the cabinet. He moved quickly to the opposite wall and reached out for the jug, only to be flung backwards into the overturned metal gurney. The flashlight fell from his hand, landing on the ground, spinning in circles, tossing light around the room like a radiant pinwheel.

"Danny!" Sam yelled as the ghost materialized behind the other man. The guard turned, just as the shotgun was torn from his grasp by an unseen force. The weapon flew across the small room, crashed into the wall and slid back across the floor toward Sam, sweeping the flashlight along in its wake. Danny took a step back, his mouth open, his hand held before him as if it would work to magically keep the spirit away.

Sam scuttled across the floor and scooped up the shotgun, taking aim and firing up from his prone position. The salt shell caught the ghost in the back and it disappeared once again. Tucking the gun and flashlight under one arm, Sam hurried to the cabinet and grabbed the jug of kerosene. His long legs carried him quickly back to the drawer and he wasted no time splashing the liquid along the metal. He tossed the jug aside when it was empty and pulled a lighter from his pocket, gave it a flip with his thumb and tossed it onto the drawer. The fire lit immediately and both men stepped back from the sudden heat.

The prisoner's ghost appeared again and Sam leveled the shotgun, sighing in relief as the spirit was suddenly bathed in an orange glow before quickly fading from view. He grabbed Danny's sleeve and pulled the guard toward the main door. Handing the rifle to Danny once again, he tucked the flashlight under his arm, then placed both hands on the door handle and gave a strong tug. He was unprepared for the door to give so easily, the heavy wood flying off its rusted hinges, knocking both men back in a jumble of limbs onto the floor.

Sam rolled onto his back and shined the flashlight up into the surprised face of Bobby Singer.

"Hey, Bobby."

"You two done with the foreplay or you want to be alone?"

Sam looked to Danny in the dim light, snorting a laugh as the guard simply shrugged in silent response. "We're good," he deadpanned. He held up a hand, allowing the older hunter to help him back to his feet.

"The ghost?"

"Remains were in the drawer." Sam tilted a head toward the quickly dying fire across the room. "Taken care of." He looked past Bobby, his head moving right then left as he stepped out into the dark tunnel. "Bobby, where's Dean?"

snsnsnsnsnsnsnsns

Dean moved quietly through the open doorway on his left. The heavy metal door lay across the threshold, no longer an impediment to any type of threat. Keeping in mind the way the door had sealed on Sam in the morgue, he kept an eye on it as he crept past into the darkened room. The beam from the flashlight revealed no furniture inside the room. There was a simple concrete floor broken by four squares of iron bars forming a macabre sort of checkerboard on the stained cement.

Dean swore softly in frustration as a muffled shotgun blast echoed down the tunnel outside. Sam was still fighting, but he had no idea how long his brother could hold off the spirit that was currently attacking. They'd loaded up on shells, so he knew Sam was in no immediate danger, but unless they could find a way to force the big door open, even if Sam was successful in getting rid of the ghost, the smoke from the fire would pose an entirely new and just as deadly threat.

Concluding that was nothing that could help them inside this room, Dean took a step back, stopping suddenly as his breath coalesced in front of his face and the exposed skin on his neck, face and hands registered the abrupt drop in temperature.

"Terrific," he muttered under his breath. Tightening his grip on the shotgun, Dean attempted to slowly back out of the room, but was suddenly pushed forward, the weapon and flashlight flying from his hands, crashing onto the cement floor. The darkness descended as the flashlight shattered and Dean stumbled forward blindly, aware of a high screeching sound somewhere in the room. He held out his hands, trying to regain his balance, almost succeeding when another shove from behind sent him sprawling. He rolled on the hard floor once, his head connecting sharply with the unforgiving ground. A bright flash behind his eyes disoriented him as he tried to get his bearings.

Coming to a stop, he lay on his side, his hands cradling his aching head. He didn't bother to open his eyes, knowing that without the flashlight there was nothing to be seen in the blanketing darkness anyway. Forcing himself to listen, he could hear nothing beyond his own harsh breathing and the hammering of his heart, which had obviously decided to climb up into his brain. He slowly rolled to his back, his entire focus on the painful throbbing that had once again taken up residence inside his skull. The pain made it nearly impossible to think clearly, which is probably why he didn't notice that his movement had moved him to the edge of a gaping hole in the floor until it was too late.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Sleeper Cell**

Chapter 6

"Bobby, he was hurt!" Sam threw his arms in the air, his long arms casting eerie shadows on the wall of the tunnel. Both men had managed to detangle themselves from each other after their inadvertent fall back into the morgue. Neither was inclined to stay inside the room any longer than necessary, and Sam's current position straddling the doorway was hindering Danny from a much welcome escape.

"I know that," Bobby retorted, seeing the distress on the guard's face and pulling Sam forward. "I don't need you to tell me he was off his game, kid. But you know as well as I do once that mule headed brother of yours gets something in his head ain't nobody gonna change it."

Sam opened his mouth to argue, but closed it quickly knowing the older man was right. "Damnit, Dean," he sighed.

"That should be tattooed across his forehead," Bobby muttered.

"Fine," Sam opened the shotgun, reloading the cartridges as he spoke with an ease born of practice. "Do you at least know which way he went?"

Bobby gave him a pained expression. "Of course I know which way he went, ya idgit." He held up an arm, pointing down the tunnel. "Not like there's a lot of options down here."

Sam took a deep breath and tried to quell the building concern in his gut. He knew getting angry with Bobby wasn't helping anything. Hell, Dean running to play hero wasn't exactly something new – especially with Sam trapped and in danger. He just was worried for his brother who had already taken two good knocks to the head and wasn't exactly functioning at full capacity. Of course, Dean at half-mast was as good or better than most other hunters running at full steam, so Sam knew his current state of anxiety was probably due just as much to what he had just been through as to his brother's current absence. In any case, yelling at Bobby wasn't going to help the situation.

With an apologetic nod to the older hunter, Sam handed over the flashlight, snapped the barrel of the gun closed and headed up the tunnel.

Snsnsnsnsnsn

Waking up with a head injury was never a pleasant experience. Waking up alone, in the pitch dark, in a dank hole in the ground with a head injury was so far from pleasant it wasn't even funny. Dean moaned as he shifted his body, forcing himself to a sitting position against the cold slimy concrete wall. Opening his eyes had produced no differential in his surroundings – everything was simply black.

He held a hand out in front of his face and wriggled his fingers, but could not distinguish any visual movement. Letting the hand fall back to his lap, he leaned his head back and sighed.

This was just peachy. The blackness was absolute. He had no way of knowing how far he had fallen, but considering that nothing felt broken or unduly bruised, he concluded he couldn't have fallen too far. Forcing his mind to think, he tilted his head, trying to ascertain where the top of the hole was, but could make out nothing but darkness. It was a bit unsettling, the black seeming to press against him, smothering him with its obscurity. He took a deep breath, then another, trying to stop the panic that had started to trickle up from the base of his spine.

Sam was in trouble.

He had to get out.

Now.

He pushed himself against the wall, pulled his feet underneath him, and with both hands behind him, slowly walked himself up to a standing position. He paused a moment as the lights exploded behind his eyes, a welcome contradiction to the inky gloom surrounding him. Being dizzy when there was nothing to see was a unique experience and one he didn't want to repeat any time soon. He reached up a hand, carefully keeping his body in contact with the wall, his only current frame of reference, trying to find a purchase near the top of the hole.

His fingers scraped the edge of the opening, grazing against cool metal directly overhead. Reaching up the other hand and standing on his tip toes, he was able to grasp what he assumed was the iron grating that he had seen on the floor of the room and tried to push. He had little purchase and wasn't able to get the heavy grating to budge.

Sinking back down slowly, he leaned forward, resting his throbbing head on his bent knees.

"Well, this sucks out loud," he said, his voice echoing against the opposite wall of his prison. He let his butt fall onto the floor, wincing as the muscle met with a lumpy grating instead of the expected smooth concrete. "What the hell…"

Reaching a hand down, Dean felt along the floor, surprised to have his fingers meet with cold iron instead of hard concrete. The bottom of the hole was apparently a square of iron grating, similar to the one above him. As he stared down, he noticed that the dark grating was slowly becoming visible, an acrid heat beginning to waft from somewhere below.

Dean's eyes widened as an orange glow became visible far below the hole, the stench of smoke and ash drifting up to fill his nose with a familiar odor.

"No," he whispered, his mind going back to the flames and heat he had endured during his forty years in the pit. "No, no, no, no…." As the flames began to dance higher, reaching for him, he forced himself into the corner of the cell, his breath coming in strangled gasps, his heart hammering inside his chest. Dean reached up, his hands once again slamming against the iron grate above. With his head tilted up, his eyes searched frantically for a way out of the cell, finding nothing but the grate firmly in place, trapping him in the path of the encroaching flames. Dean leaned back against the wall and pulled in a deep breath before letting loose a blood-curdling scream.

"Saaaammm!!!!!"

snsnsnsnsnsnsnsn

"What's up this way?" Bobby asked as the three men carefully made their way up the dark tunnel.

"There's a connecting tunnel to the maintenance wing as well as the hole."

"The hole?"

Danny nodded in the darkness, unconcerned that no one could actually see the gesture. "It was meant to be the furnace and maintenance room when the prison was originally built," he explained. "But once they started sending the tougher cases here, it was re-designated as a sort of solitary confinement for punishing the inmates who were causing trouble."

"So, they're just cells?"

Danny coughed, hesitating to answer the question. "Well, um, sort of. There were already three foot square grates in the floor for access to the pipes and stuff underneath the tunnel. They just welded the bottoms closed and made them into isolation cells for the hard to handle cases. Sometimes they were left inside in the dark for days and weeks at a time."

Sam stopped, turning back toward the other men. "They threw men into three foot holes in the ground and just left them there?" He exchanged a look with Bobby, his eyes wide at the thought of the cruelty humans were sometimes capable of.

"They've been welded shut for years," Danny answered quickly. "Since they built the newer isolation wing on the East side of the prison, the Hole has been off limits to everyone except maintenance personnel."

"Saaaammm!"

The scream tore through the silence like a bolt of thunder, causing all three men to turn to the dark tunnel before them.

"Dean!" Sam screamed back, holding his breath as he waited for an answer. When none came, he turned back to Danny, urgency written on his face. "Take me there. Now!"

Danny nodded and started to run.

Snsnsnsnsnsnsns

Dean pressed his eyes closed, forcing himself into the corner as tightly as he could. He could feel the heat from below and pulled his arms and legs into his body. A part of him knew he wasn't really back in the pit; his memories forcing their way to the front and making him believe he was back within the grasp of the demons. But part of him – the part that couldn't reconcile what he'd done, the part that couldn't forgive himself for being weak enough to break – knew he'd never truly escape. He'd never be able to fully believe he was free. He'd never be able to forget that his weakness, his need to escape the pain, had allowed the demons' plan to unfold. He'd jump-started the apocalypse and there was nothing in this world he could possibly do to make up for that. He pulled his legs closer, burying his head into his arms, trying to keep himself as small as possible to avoid the flames of Hell from searing into his skin.

It wasn't fair.

He'd been saved, right?

Castiel had reached down and pulled him from Hell.

He'd fought his way out of that coffin. He'd found his way back to Sam. He'd tried to help the angels… he'd tried to do what the sons-a-bitches asked. He'd even tortured Alistair even though it has been the last thing on earth he'd wanted to do.

But Castiel had asked… God had asked… and what the hell was he supposed to do? Say no? After they'd saved him?

Or had they?

Had it all been real?

Castiel, Sam, Ruby, Lilith… the seals… the Apocalypse… was any of it real?

Or was he still in Hell? He knew he deserved the retribution. He deserved the looks of contempt, mistrust, pity that he'd seen on the faces of the people around him. He deserved whatever punishment God or whoever it was that was pulling the strings decided to dish out.

But didn't he deserve a chance to simply breathe?

The memories inside his head were forever banging against the back of his eyes, the screams constantly sounding in his ears. The screams of all those souls… they would never stop. They were constant. Even when he could force them back far enough to get just a moment of peace, they'd never really stop. He'd learned to block them out, but they'd never truly been silenced. They were always there. So loud that he could barely think. So loud that he could barely breathe. His breath was coming in gasps, loud inside his small prison.

So loud he almost missed it.

"Dean!"

His eyes snapped open, met only by the familiar darkness. The flames were gone. The heat was gone. He shivered in the dank coldness.

"Sam?"

"Dean!"

He looked up, a faint light above growing stronger as he heard movement overhead.

"Sam! Down here!"

He winced as a beam of light was aimed into the small cell and he breathed a sigh of relief and reached a shaking hand up to the iron grate.

"Hey!" Sam's smiling face filled the grate above him, his large hand folding across Deans outstretched fingers. "You okay?"

Dean swallowed hard and nodded once, relief stealing his strength, making his knees weak. "Yeah. Just get me the hell out of here."

"Hold on."

Both Sam and the direct beam of light disappeared for moment, and Dean held his breath until he heard the wrenching of metal and saw the grated panel above him lift then crash to the cement on the other side of the cell. Sam's face returned accompanied by both arms reaching down to grab at Dean's jacket.

"Come on, grab my arms and we'll pull you up."

Dean silently followed the directive, for once brokering no argument at his brother's direct order. Dean wanted to be able to help, trying to find purchase on the slimy wall of the cell to aid in his own rescue, but the adrenaline rush he'd experienced only moments before had left his limbs unable to cooperate and it took Sam and Danny's strong arms to finally pull him free of the hole.

Once he was out, he found the strength to push himself away from the open pit and stumble from the room into the tunnel. It was still confining and he couldn't shake the sudden feeling of claustrophobia, but the tunnel was wide enough to stand and move around in and despite the darkness pressing on either side, he found that he could finally breathe.

Dean was backed against the far wall of the tunnel, his knees pulled up against his chest, his arms wrapped around his legs. The others gave him room, watching him for a long moment as he struggled to control the spasms of his muscles and the ragged pace of his breathing.

Finally Sam approached, crouching down in front of his brother, the surviving flashlight lifted to illuminate the injured man without shining directly on him.

"Hey, man," Sam kept his voice low, not wanting to spook his brother any more than he obviously already was. "You sure you're okay?"

Dean lifted his head from his knees and gave his brother a shaky grin. "I am now."

Sam raised a hand and swiped at the blood still trickling down his brother's face. "You hit your head again," he observed, ducking his own head to catch Dean's eyes. "You know you don't have that many brain cells left to screw with, right?"

"Screw you," Dean retorted, his body beginning to calm now that he was no longer confined. "My brain cells are doing just fine."

"Both of them," Sam grinned. He placed his hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezed. "Dean?" The sound of his brother's scream had scared the crap out of him. Sam had no idea what had caused Dean to scream like that, but he knew the older hunter was carrying a lot of baggage that no human should ever have to deal with. Hell had taken a part of his brother and Sam was no longer sure Dean was capable of getting it back. Dean had confessed more about his time in the pit than Sam had dared hoped for, but thanks to the siren they'd encountered a while back, had had most of his torment thrown back in his face.

Sam would never forgive himself for that, and despite his brother's capacity for excusing almost all of Sam's mistakes, he didn't think Dean would be able to forgive him for those words any time soon.

"I'm okay, Sammy," Dean's breathing had evened out and his cock-sure grin was back in position even though Sam was now able to see past it into the tremulous hold Dean had on his fear.

"Then what do you boys say we get the hell out of here?"

Dean looked past his brother, meeting Bobby's concerned eyes with reassurance. "I couldn't agree more."

Snsnsnsnsnsnsns

Danny had assured them they were close to the door that connected the tunnel with the main building and Sam was more than ready to get the hell out of the confining passage. With Bobby and Danny once again leading the way, Sam stayed back a step, his eyes on his brother as they plodded down the tunnel.

Dean was quiet.

Too quiet.

Sam swallowed hard, not sure what to do about his brother. He missed the cock-sure, take charge hunter that always waded in, guns blazing, no matter what the threat. This new Dean – the more cautious, more careful man that had come back from the pit – was throwing Sam off. He didn't know what to expect from this new version. He wasn't sure if he needed to protect him, listen to him or simply ignore him and do what needed to be done.

He also knew that wasn't fair.

Despite the fact that Dean seemed more guarded, even wary of what they faced, the older sibling hadn't shown any signs of backing down. He'd been a hell of a lot more honest about everything that had happened to him than Sam had been. The fact that Dean had told him about what he'd done in the pit had surprised Sam so much he'd been unable to form any kind of response at the time.

He was sure Dean had taken that as a sign that Sam had been disappointed in him, disillusioned even, and maybe he had been.

Dean had always been his hero.

How the hell are you supposed to react when you find out your hero is nothing more than a man? That he's just as human as the next guy, with frailties and flaws that made him as weak and vulnerable as anyone else?

Sam couldn't justify this man with the brother he'd always looked up to. Even after Dad died and Dean's damaged psyche was left open for all to see, Sam never considered his brother vulnerable. But since he'd returned from Hell, Dean had been trying so hard to hide behind the mask he'd spent a lifetime constructing, only to discover that a second lifetime in Hell had crumbled it to dust.

No. It wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair that Dean had had to suffer.

It wasn't fair that he'd had to choose between saving himself and saving humanity.

It wasn't fair that he'd been forced to make that choice without really knowing what was at stake.

Sam knew his brother well enough to know there was no way he'd have given into Alistair's offer if he'd have known what the ramifications had been. If he'd known about the first seal, Sam was convinced Dean would've taken whatever the demon could dish out.

But he hadn't known… and because of that, he'd broken.

And Sam wasn't sure if there was any way of putting the pieces of his brother back together again.

But he would do whatever necessary to protect what was left. Even if it meant lying to the one person he couldn't bear to lose again.

When Dean had admitted to knowing what Sam had been up to back in that motel room, Sam had felt his heart nearly beat out of his chest. He was certain Chuck had gone back on his word and spilled everything to Dean. Sam knew how his brother would react to what he'd been doing with Ruby – hell, look how badly he reacted to finding out about Sam using his powers to begin with.

Although, if he was being honest, Sam knew it was the fact that he'd been lying to his brother's face that had hurt him more than anything. Dean had always trusted him. He'd never doubted him, even when he probably should have. It was the loss of that trust, that foundation, that had really shaken him.

Sam wasn't stupid enough to believe Dean was fooled. His older brother could read him like a book – always had – and Sam was certain that Dean had found him out, but when he'd admitted in the next breath that he knew about Sam getting stronger, but not how he was doing it, Sam had nearly fainted with relief.

He didn't think he could bear to see the look in Dean's eyes if he found out. He knew he couldn't keep it secret for much longer, but he only had to hold out long enough to kill Lilith. Then, he'd tell Dean everything.

If he was still alive.

"You okay?"

Sam jumped, his brother's voice close in the dark tunnel. They'd unconsciously stepped closer together as they followed the bobbing flashlight to a set of double doors set at the end of a slightly uphill ramp in the dark passage. Danny was currently fumbling with his keys, Bobby keeping the flashlight trained on the guard's hands as he searched through the assortment for the one that would open the huge padlock keeping the doors closed.

"Yeah," Sam nodded, taking a deep breath through his nose. "How's your head?" Diversionary Tactics 101. Winchester S.O.P.

"Still attached," Dean responded as he reached up and swiped at the sticky blood clotting on his face. "Could use a wet wipe though."

Sam snorted a laugh, silently thanking his brother for his attempt to lighten the moment and get him out of his own head. He could just make out Dean's sad grin in the dim light and was suddenly afraid his brother had developed some kind of psychic ability of his own, somehow deciphering everything that had been running through Sam's mind for the last few minutes.

"We'll hit a KFC on our way out."

Dean huffed a laugh, nodding as he accepted the comment for the deflection it was. "You had to mention food, didn't you?"

"Yes!" Danny hissed in triumph as he twisted a key, watching as the lock snapped open. He dragged the chain from around the handles and, with a grunt of effort, pushed the old doors open.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Sleeper Cell**

Chapter 7

They made quick work of the stairway that led up to the administration building, none of the men wanting to spend anymore time in the tunnel than necessary. Despite being out of the dark, dank tunnel, Dean didn't feel all that much better. His head still throbbed in a dull but persistent beat, his chest still ached from the hammering of his heart that had tried without success to beat itself out of its cavity, and his throat was raw from the screams he hoped the others would have the consideration to forget.

He was a little of his game to say the least, but he was pretty sure, considering he'd spent a lifetime in Hell, a small slip in his defenses was more than acceptable. Of course, he wasn't sure if his brother would see it that way.

He knew what Sam had said under the influence of the siren's poison was something the younger man would have never admitted otherwise. But that didn't mean he hadn't believed every word he'd said. Dean knew that he had meant what he said at the time; the looks of pity, the arguments, the lies… all sure signs that his brother saw him as damaged goods.

And maybe he was. It's not like anyone else had ever had to deal with this. It's not like he wasn't damaged even before the hellhounds used him as a chew toy. He knew he was screwed in the head. He'd never needed Dad or Sam or even Bobby to point that out to him. But despite everything, he'd managed to bury it all and keep doing his job. He'd saved people, he'd saved Sam… and in the end, that was all that really mattered. So despite Sam's belief that Dean had lost a step or ten, he was still going to keep his promise to his father, he was still going to save his brother.

Whether that brother believed in him or not.

The flashback to Hell – if that's what it was – had screwed with his equilibrium enough that he was more than anxious to get out of this god-forsaken place. Despite what he'd told Sam about not being ready to take on Lilith, he would like nothing more at the moment than to ram the knife into that pathetic bitch and watch the light show as she slowly died.

Of course, he doubted it would be that easy. Ruby's knife hadn't killed Alistair. He doubted it would kill a demon of Lilith's standing. He wished like hell they still had the Colt, the gun seeming to hold more power than the demon killing ginsu. Old Yellow Eyes hadn't been able to withstand the power of the old pistol, he doubted Lilith or even Alistair would've been able to either.

Of course, that point was mute. Bela had made sure of that.

But a guy could dream, right?

They pushed their way through another set of heavy metal doors at the top of the stairs, stepping out into a wide hallway that moved out in three directions. The darkness wasn't quite as complete, the faint moonlight shining in through the tall barred windows, illuminating the new surroundings with a silvery glow.

Danny motioned down the hallway directly in front of them. "This leads to the main administration offices. The front door is our best bet."

The wan moonlight seemed to be coming in from both sides of the hallway, seeping through the bars and forming a large X on the floor of the hallway. Dean's eyebrows rose as he noticed the pattern on the floor.

"X marks the spot," he intoned as he followed Sam forward into the hallway. As soon as his brother placed his foot onto the shadowy crossmark on the floor, the temperature plummeted and Dean saw a shape beginning to take form between directly between him and Sam.

"Sammy! Behind you!"

Dean ducked as his brother turned and fired, the ghost disappearing as the salt sailed over his prone figure.

"Dean?"

"Yeah," he called, pushing himself up, his eyes surveying the narrow hall as he moved in a circle toward Sam. "I'm good. You see anything?"

"Nothing."

Dean nodded and took a step toward his brother when he felt the icy touch of something invisible and found himself pushed back, pinned to the wall. The pressure on his throat began to increase and he could barely yelp his brother's name as his lungs began to demand some much needed air.

Sam watched as the spirit coalesced directly in front of Dean. It was a woman, only slightly shorter than his brother, wearing a long skirt, her dark hair pulled up into a severe bun. He aimed the shotgun at the apparition, but couldn't find an angle where the salt round wouldn't hit his brother. He knew Dean had been shot with rock salt before thanks to Dr. Ellicot back at Roosevelt Asylum, and would no doubt survive the blast, but he remembered the bruising and pain his brother had suffered and hesitated to be the cause of it again.

"Let him go," Sam ordered, the shotgun held firmly trained on the spirit. "I said, let. Him. Go."

"Don't think… she's list'nin' Sammy," Dean managed to choke out. The ghost had pinned him to the wall in the narrow hallway, but his feet were still on the ground and he was able to shift his weight enough to take some of the pressure off his throat. "Please… just… shoot her."

Sam stepped as close to the wall as possible and pulled back on the trigger, the boom of the shotgun echoing loudly in the confined space.

Dean immediately dropped to the floor, one hand to his neck as Sam quickly stepped to his side.

"You okay?"

Dean swallowed and winced, but nodded his head. "Thought getting pinned to walls and choked was your gig."

Sam chuckled. "What can I say? I'm a giver."

"You boys alright?"

Both brother's turned to look at Bobby as he appeared from an open doorway near the end of the hallway.

"Yeah," Dean replied, holding up a hand for a lift up. "Just ran into one of Danny's rumors."

Sam pulled his brother to his feet just as the ghost reappeared. Shoving Dean aside, the younger man aimed and fired, only to be met with the click of an empty gun. As the ghost started to drift toward him, Sam quickly turned the shotgun around and swung it in an arch that would make any major league player green with envy. The iron barrel connected with the spirit and it dissipated once again.

"This is getting old," Bobby mumbled as he reached out, his hand gripping Dean's jacket. He pulled the younger man forward, then pushed him through the door as he simultaneously yelled at the other young man to move.

Not needing to be told twice, Sam quickly ducked under Bobby's raised weapon and followed his brother through the door. He waited for the older hunter to back through, then slammed it shut. Dean pulled a pouch from an inside pocket and tossed it to his brother.

"Salt it, Sam. Quick!"

Sam immediately tossed the empty shotgun to his brother and pulled open the pouch. He leaned over, pouring a hasty line of salt at the base of the door before stepping back to stand shoulder to shoulder with Dean.

"That probably won't hold for long," Bobby commented. He turned to Danny who was standing back watching the proceedings with a look of wonder on his face. "Where's this damn front door?"

Danny tilted his head toward the hallway. "Back through there."

"Of course it is."

snsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsn

"We're out of salt," Sam informed them.

"Terrific," Dean sighed. "So… even if we do get past Mrs. Doubtfire out there, we've got nothing to seal the door to the …" He looked to Danny for reference.

"Administrative office."

"Administrative office," he repeated. He lifted his left arm, squinting through the dim light at his watch, blinking rapidly as the small dial went in and out of focus. "Anybody know how long 'till sunrise?"

Sam checked his own watch. "About an hour."

"So we can sit here until then and hope that salt line holds whatever ghosts this place throws at us for the next hour, or we can head for the administrative office and try our luck with the outside door."

Sam looked to Bobby, his eyebrows high at his brother's words. "We've never been very good at waiting."

Bobby huffed what could have been a laugh and turned toward Danny. "How far is this office?"

Danny shrugged, his eyes looking up as he obviously traced the building's layout in his head. "Down that hall and to the right," he informed them. "There's a barred door on this side, but the outside door isn't reinforced."

"Barred?" All three hunters said simultaneously, causing Danny to look with confusion from one to the other.

"Uh, yeah."

Dean leaned back against the wall and gave him a hopeful grin. "It wouldn't by any chance be iron, would it?"

Danny nodded and Dean turned his grin on to his brother. "So much for the salt problem."

"Score one for the good guys," Sam said, returning the grin. He grabbed the shotgun from his brother's lax hand and snapped it open, loading two shells into the barrel. "Last two salt rounds." He looked to Dean who was leaning hard against the wall. "How about you?"

"Huh?" Dean seemed to be caught off guard and Sam dipped down in an attempt to catch his brother's eyes.

"You okay?"

"No," Dean responded in an uncharacteristic display of honesty. "But there's not a lot we can do about that now." He dug into his jacket and pulled out one more shell, which he tossed toward Bobby. "That's it. I'm out."

"So we've got three shots," Bobby concluded. "We're gonna have to move fast." He looked at Dean, taking in the weary set of his shoulders as well as the dark line of blood dried on his head and face. "You ready for this?"

"I'll be fine," he responded. He pushed himself away from the wall, swaying for a moment before finding his balance and raising his head triumphantly. "What are we waiting for?"

snsnsnsnsnsnsnsns

The hall seemed deserted as Sam eased the door open and ducked his head out. Slowly he stepped out into the corridor, his weapon trained on the eerie X marking the floor down the hall. Tilting his head once, he motioned for Bobby to move out behind him. Bobby held the other shotgun out in front on him, providing cover for Danny as he quickly moved down the hallway. Dean exited the room last, crossing behind Sam as the temperature suddenly dropped and the specter of the warden's wife coalesced once again.

"I guess we know who she's hot for now, huh?" Sam quipped, taking a step backwards, closer to his brother.

"At least she has good taste."

Sam let off a shot and the spirit dissipated, only to reform almost immediately only a few feet in front of them.

"She's quick," Dean observed as he grabbed Sam's jacket and pulled the taller man backwards.

The spirit turned her hollow eyes onto Dean, raising a hand toward him even as Sam aimed the shotgun for another shot.

"Stay back," the younger hunter warned, a deadly tone in his voice.

"Or what, Sam? It's not like you can threaten to kill her or anything."

Sam took a breath, his head twitching in acknowledgement at his brother's comment. "Maybe we can give her something else." He lowered the shotgun, feeling Dean's body tense next to his. "Trust me."

"Uh, okay." From the low pitch of his brother's voice, Sam could tell the older man wasn't really all that inclined to do anything of the sort, but he didn't interfere and dropped his hand, allowing Sam to take a small step forward.

"Look," Sam began, his hand outstretched toward the ghost. "I know you don't want to hurt us. It was the demons who forced this. We know that. We mean you no harm."

Dean swallowed hard, surprised to see the ghost turn its gaze back to Sam.

"As a matter of fact. We can help you," the younger man continued, his voice taking an almost sing-song quality. Dean had seen his brother charm tougher old birds than this… although all of those had been alive at the time. But, the octogenarian set always seemed to have a soft spot for his brother's puppy-dog eyes… he took a slow breath, holding it and hoping for the best.

"We can set you free," Sam said softly. When the spirits dark eyes widened in wonder, he pressed. "That's what you really want, isn't it? We know how to do that. We just need to get out of here. I promise." He could see the hope on the spirits face, knowing he was getting through. "What do you say? You have no debt to those demons. They're using you to do their dirty work. I know you're not violent. There's never been any reports of violent spirits here. You don't want to hurt us. Let us go and I promise we'll set you free."

The spirit stared at him for a moment, it's eyes seeming to bore straight through making Sam's breath catch in his throat. Then with a simple nod, she vanished, leaving the two brothers alone in the corridor.

"Nice going, Ghost Whsiperer," Dean said quietly. "Of course if it'd been me, I would've held out for Jennifer Love Hewitt."

"If it had been you, Jennifer Love Hewitt would've run screaming back to Grandview."

Dean pulled up short, giving his brother a sardonic grin. "I don't know what scares me more – that you just had a heart to heart with a pissed off spirit, or that you've actually watched Ghost Whisperer."

Sam shrugged, stepped back and headed down the hall after Bobby and Danny. "Dude, if it makes you feel better, just consider it research."

Snsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsns

The Administration office was a fifteen-foot by fifteen-foot room with high ceilings, hanging fluorescent lighting and frosted glass windows on either side of a large, ornate wooden door. The door was chipped, the stain peeled away in many places, the weathered wood showing through. As Dean entered the room behind his brother, Bobby crossed to the door, grasping the handle and giving the old door a strong tug.

"Damn," the old mechanic whispered. He turned to the former guard. "Don't suppose you happen to have a key to this one, too?"

Danny shook his head. "Afraid not. They just installed a new dead bolt lock. I haven't received a key yet."

Bobby stepped back and raised the shotgun, causing Danny to jump forward, grabbing at the weapon before the older man could fire it into the large glass panel in the upper portion of the door. "No!" He released Bobby's arm and quickly stepped to the door, rapping his knuckle on the pane. "Bulletproof glass." He added, giving the hunter a sheepish grin.

"I thought you said we could get out through here," Sam questioned.

Danny nodded. "It's bullet proof, but it can be smashed from one side."

"Any chance that side is this side?" Dean asked cautiously.

Danny grinned. "We had it installed backwards." He shrugged when the three hunters looked at him with identical expressions of surprise. "Hey, it's not a prison anymore. The Preservation Society is more interested in keeping people out than in."

"Danny," Dean clapped him on the back as Sam stepped toward the door, rifle stock raised. "I think I'm beginning to like you."

It only took a few minutes for Sam to shatter the glass and for him and Danny to carefully clear away the glass. Sam was the first to climb through, followed by Danny, Dean and Bobby. Dean was pretty sure he had never been happier to be outside his whole life.

The sky was beginning to brighten with the promise of daybreak by the time they had all clambered out the window. Dean straightened up, his grip tightening on his brother's arm as his gaze was caught by a woman standing by the open door of a dark colored, late model Mustang parked up against the edge of the highway. because of the distance and the dim shadows of early morning, but he could've sworn he saw her eyes flash black. In any event, once she saw they were out of the prison, she slid into her car, slammed the door and peeled awayt, turning south on the main road, the purr of her engine echoing in the stillness.

"Think she was one of Lilith's?" Sam asked, his eyes tracking the taillights of the Mustang as they disappeared into the darkness.

"Probably." Dean gave a weary sigh and rubbed the side of his head slowly. He had no idea what this little escapade had proven outside the fact that demons could apparently get creative. They were obviously getting under Lilith's skin, if she'd gone to such lengths to orchestrate this plan to eliminate them. He guessed that meant they were doing their job. But, at some point, he'd really like to be the one with the advantage. You'd think having angels on your ass would be of some kind of advantage, but so far? Not so much. Castiel and his buddies had managed to complicate things even more -- and that was something Dean could do without. Whatever they expected him to do, they'd better get their shit together soon or he was going to play the cards he was dealt. And, if that didn't fit into their little master plan, so be it. They'd survived demons, they could survive angels, too. "I don't know about you guys, but I could use a beer, a shower and a soft bed."

He hoped the demons took time to regroup -- at least enough to give them time to get their wind back. Of course, who the hell knew what was going on anymore? He couldn't get a straight answer from Castiel or his boss, so all he knew was the bad guys were breaking seals to free Lucifer. How the hell he was supposed to stop it was beyond him. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe they needed to take out Lilith. But there was no way he was walking into any of this blind. And he had no intention of letting Sam walk into it blind either.

"How about a bottle of water and the front seat of the Impala instead?"

Dean pretended to consider the suggestion for a moment before giving his brother a crooked grin. "That'll do."

"You boys gonna be okay?"

Both brothers turned to Bobby, giving the man twin nods. "We'll be fine, Bobby." Sam assured the older man.

"You should probably make yourselves scarce before that demon in the suped-up Mustang gets the word to management that your asses are still intact."

Sam nodded again. "We've got something we have to do first."

At Bobby's look of inquiry, Dean explained Sam's promise to the woman's spirit. "I think she just wants to move on, Bobby. We can do that."

Bobby removed his cap and scratched an itch on the top of his head before replacing it and giving the brothers a solemn nod. "I know a couple of hunters nearby. I'll give 'em a call, have 'em take care of her. You boys stick around and those demons may take another shot at you."

Dean and Sam exchanged a look, coming to a silent agreement. "Okay, Bobby. Thanks." While they were pretty sure Lilith would keep coming at them no matter where they were, they both knew that the harder they made it for her, the better chance they had of figuring out how to defeat her. They still had no idea whether this elaborate plan was set up to eliminate Sam who seemed to be immune to her big bright, or Dean because he was – according to the angels – the one who was supposed to stop her. Either way they wouldn't make it easier for her, they'd make her earn her prize… it was just the Winchester way.

They took turns shaking Danny's hand, saying goodbye and making sure the guard knew how much they appreciated his assistance. They knew Bobby would give him a number to call if he ever needed it, so they didn't bother to offer theirs. The older man had held up well under the pressure and neither brother would be surprised if they'd just seen the emergence of a new hunter to the ranks.

They both turned to their old friend. "If I were you, I'd avoid helping out old buddies for while."

Bobby scowled at Dean. "Good thing we already established you're not me, then. Besides, the 'old buddies' I seem to spend the most time saving is you two idgits." He pointed a finger from one brother to the other, causing both to duck their heads to hide their grins. "Just see if I come runnin' to save your asses next time you call."

Dean raised his head and gave the older hunter a knowing grin. "You will."

Bobby shook his head, his own grin playing at his lips. "Cocky bastard," he mumbled. He raised his eyes and looked from one to the other. "You boys take care," he called as they both turned and headed across the property to where they'd left the Impala.

"Keys," Sam called as the approached the big black car.

"Huh? Why?"

Sam snorted a laugh. "Um… concussion, Dean? Numerous blows to the head? Any of this sounding familiar?"

"I'm fine Sam."

"Right." The younger man stopped as they approached the car, right hand held out before him. "You're fine." He thrust out a hip and stared at his brother, the rising sun just beginning to lighten the familiar look of barely contained annoyance. "It's been a really long night, man and I'm not the one standing here with blood caking half my face."

Dean sighed and dug in his pocket, handing over the car keys before turning and heading to the passenger side of the car. He never could last against that look. "Anybody ever tell you you're bossy?"

Sam smiled smugly as he opened the driver's door. "Look, we'll get a few hours in on the road, then pull over somewhere and catch some sleep. Deal?"

Dean nodded agreement. "Deal. But I get the backseat this time."

Sam just shrugged, knowing his brother would be out in the front seat long before they pulled over to rest. "Just get in the car, Dean."

End

_**Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!! I'd love to hear from you! Only a month left until the boys are back! It's the simple things I look forward to the most! **_


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